By: Roy Douglas Malonson
Every year on the Fourth of July, fireworks light up the sky, flags wave with pride, and families gather for cookouts and celebration. It’s America’s birth- day—the day the Declaration of Independence was adopted in 1776. But for many African Americans, the holiday brings a complicated mix of emotions. While the nation celebrates freedom, our community is still asking: freedom for who—and at what cost?
Let’s be honest. In 1776, the vast majority of Black people in America were enslaved. While white colonists were declaring their freedom from British rule, Black men, women, and children were still be- ing whipped, sold, and dehumanized under a system that denied them any liberty at all. The very words “all men are created equal” rang hollow as slavery thrived. So what has the Fourth of July truly done for us?
That question is not new. It was thundered loud and clear by Frederick Douglass in his historic 1852 speech, “What to the Slave Is the Fourth of July?” In it, Douglass didn’t mince words. He called the celebration a sham, stating, “This Fourth of July is yours, not mine. You may rejoice, I must mourn.” Over 170 years later, many in our community still feel the sting of that truth. Sure, times have changed. We are no longer in shackles. We’ve made an undeniable process. We’ve seen a Black president. We’ve broken barriers in poli- tics, science, sports, and business. But systemic racism still casts a long shadow—from police brutality to economic inequality, from educational disparities to voter suppression.
The reality is, the Fourth of July can feel like a contradiction. It’s a celebration of freedom in a nation that has of- ten denied full freedom to its Black citizens. Even today, while Americans proudly sing the national anthem, many Black folks reflect on different anthems— songs like “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” often called the Black national anthem, a powerful re- minder of our separate journey toward justice and recognition.
Still, despite the pain of the past and the persistence of injustice, we show up. We gather with our families. We light fireworks. We dress in red, white, and blue. But make no mistake—we celebrate in our own way. We reclaim the holiday on our terms. Because if anybody knows how to turn struggle into celebration, it’s us.
Our history on this soil is not just one of oppression, but of resistance, resilience, and radical hope. We don’t have to choose between celebrating America and holding it accountable. In fact, true patriotism demands both. We can barbecue and speak truth. We can wave the flag and still demand change. We can recog- nize how far we’ve come while fighting for how far we still have to go.
So what has the Fourth of July done for us?
It’s given us a spotlight. A moment to remind the world that freedom is not a fixed moment in time—it’s an ongoing fight. It’s a day we can use not just to grill ribs, but to fire up conversations about justice, equity, and the unfiniished business of liberty for all.
We don’t need to boycott the Fourth of July—we need to reshape it. Let it be a day where we honor not just the founding fathers, but the freedom fight- ers—Harriet Tubman, Malcolm X, Fannie Lou Hamer, John Lewis, and the countless unnamed heroes who dared to imagine a better nation.
This year, don’t just post fireworks on Insta- gram. Ask your friends: What does freedom look like for our community? Have we truly tasted liberty, or just its illusion? Let this year’s Fourth be more than a party. Let it be a pause. A moment of reflection. A recommitment to justice. Be- cause America’s freedom story is not complete without ours.
Until liberty is lived by all, not just promised to some, we’re not done. And on this Fourth of July, we remember: we built this country too. Let that truth ring louder than the fireworks.
